


Call Your Mother

by tealtier



Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 23:24:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16459025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealtier/pseuds/tealtier
Summary: Post Destruction in Kobe, Bushi gets a call from home and remembers his family.





	Call Your Mother

**Author's Note:**

> I'd been sitting on this for about a month and was lazy about it. The gdoc of this is titled 'I'm still bitter about Kobe,' in case you ever think I'll be over it.

The water in the shower was starting to transition from scalding to tepid as Bushi stood under the spray, staring at the cracking tiles of the locker room shower. Bushi idly thought how strange how  _numb_  he felt.

 

Usually, Bushi was good at slotting his life into compartments in the back of his head and focus on being the Jet Black Death Mask -- the mist spitting, sharp edged luchador of Los Ingobernables de Japon. Yet when he rolled out of the ring and forced himself to his feet, it felt like the floor dropped out from beneath him. As if the mask was pulled off his face and he was left with nothing, just the slow walk to the back with the echoes of the Kobe crowd following him. All the adrenaline of the match had rushed out of him so quickly, he was crashing before he made it to the back with the sounds of Kushida's music following him out. They wanted him to comment when all he wanted to do was scream at the futility of the situation.

 

Now he stood under a lukewarm spray of water, alone and quiet besides the noise of his family moving in the dressing room outside the doors. He doesn't want to face them yet, especially knowing the concern and support that will be etched on their faces. He doesn't want to have to return the call to Hiromu and hear his encouragement and attempts to lighten his mood. He wants the time to be miserable right now -- allow himself to feel bitter resentment against his fortune. He just wants the world to cave in and let him wallow for a while.

 

A knock drew his attention, glancing over his shoulder at the closed door. "Bushi?" Naito's voice was muffled by the separation, "We're all packed up. You all right in there?"

 

He gathered himself up, piecing together half a mask to hide the misery in his voice, "Yeah. I'll be out in a minute."

 

Another pause before Naito spoke again, "We're going to go back to the hotel. Do you want us to wait?"

 

"No," Bushi said, almost too quickly and had to take a pause before he continued, "Don't wait for me. I'll just meet you back there."

 

He could practically hear the wheels turning in Naito's head from behind the door, trying hard to not sound worried and concerned, "Are you sure? We don't mind waiting until you're done."

 

"I'll be fine. Front office wanted to talk to me after this anyway about Tag League," Bushi hoped the lie would land. He never really tried to lie to Naito before, there was little reason for him to do so. Omit details? Sure. Withhold unless asked? Of course. Outright lying was new, even so many years into knowing each other. A wave of guilt washed over him as he dragged his fingers through his hair under the cold spray. He knew Naito wouldn't push it. He's always been careful to respect Bushi's boundaries and put too much trust into him.

 

"Okay," Naito sounded doubtful, but he didn't press the subject, "Let me know when you're on your way back, okay?" He could hear them whispering to each other -- low tones that were lined with worry. He didn't move, even as the water went cold and shiver under the spray. He kept his teeth clenched and fingers clasped against the back of his neck, waiting until he no longer heard the sounds of his faction -- his family -- from behind the door. Reaching out, Bushi turned off the spray and wrapped his towel around himself. With the absence of the cascade of water, the locker room was silent. Left with his own thoughts, Bushi had a chance to let the numbness pass into a resigned sadness. They could all pretend failure didn't hurt, whether it was luck or skill that happened to fail their side, but it always stung. This time it stung so much more, because it was Hiromu's title. It should be his.

 

He should have brought it home to him.

 

And he couldn't even do that.

 

The familiar chime of his ringtone broke the quiet of the room, but Bushi didn't move to dig it out of the side pocket of his bag. It rang and rang until it finally sent the caller to voicemail, but quickly the phone chimed again. He could only ignore the incessant chiming for so long as he dressed, digging the phone out of his bag and checking the screen. All the missed calls and messages were from the person he least wanted to face at the moment -- Hiromu. The last text alert on the screen said:  _Answer or I will get Ospreay to find you._

 

Bushi sighed, dragging a hand down his face before he swiped open the phone. He knew to click to FaceTime -- Hiromu liked to gauge reactions rather than determine by voice alone. Admittedly, when he was two hundred miles away from him in an attempt to close that distance, the video helped. The screen came alight as a familiar face answered, balancing the phone precariously as he moved to get comfortable. "Bushi-san," Hiromu's voice was always low and pleasant enough to drag even a phantom of a smile from him, "You stopped ignoring me finally."

 

"I wasn't ignoring you," Bushi defended himself, "I was busy."

 

"Busy with what?" The video shakes as Hiromu moves again, trying to prop the phone against a pillow so he can lay down. Bushi notes with some annoyance he's taken off the brace again as he rolls onto his side, "Too busy being upset?"

 

"I'm not," Bushi cut himself off when he catches the look Hiromu gives him through the grainy video, "I'm allowed to be upset."

 

"Of course you are, but you're also being mean to someone I love very much so I have to stop it," Hiromu said. Bushi couldn't stop the sharp laugh at that, "I don't know why when I failed."

 

"Failed?" Hiromu echoed, his voice raising in octave, "You failed nothing. You know that isn't your decision or your fault."

Bushi grimaced as he looked away, focused anywhere but at the camera. They all knew that, deep down, when matches didn't go their way. It still never entirely took away the sting, but Hiromu has known it as much as Bushi has. "I thought this time would be different," Bushi said in a sharp exhale, the pain laced in his voice.

 

"I know," Hiromu said, falling back into the comforting softness of his tone, "But you heard the crowd, right? They wanted you. They were behind you. That's something. Besides, I would have to fight you when I came back if you had it. I don't wanna fight my mama."

 

Bushi tried to suppress the smile that it brought to his face, but failed as he said, "You wouldn't be able to pin me."

 

"Don't go that far," Hiromu replied, "I'll still win, but I'd feel badly about it."

 

"Fine," Bushi told him, "You can take the single title, but Takagi-san and I are taking the tag."

 

"But I'm your tag partner," Hiromu muttered, now with his face halfway obscured by his pillow, "Don't get too attached."

 

"Right. We'll just win them until you come back," Bushi couldn't keep the fondness out of his voice. He still felt like shit, but talking with Hiromu always seemed to soothe his nerves. "You should be asleep anyway. And put your brace back on."

 

"I can't sleep with it on," Hiromu complained, "It itches. Anyway, I will, but go back to the hotel soon, yeah? Naito-san kept sending me sad texts before you answered about how to make you feel better. He worries so much about you, it'd be pathetic if it wasn't cute."

 

"Shut up," Bushi could feel the color rise to his cheeks, which Hiromu noticed to his clear delight, "Go to sleep. I'll come by to see you when we arrive back in Tokyo."

 

"Good. I miss you," Hiromu sighed, "I want pudding and movies."

 

"Of course," Bushi agreed, watching as Hiromu yawned before puckering his lips and kissing the camera with an exaggerated smooch. Before Hiromu exited the call he said again softly, "I'm proud of you. So stop being mean to one of my favorite people."

 

He stared at the screen as Hiromu's call went dark, switching over to his home screen with the faces of his family bunched together around a dinner table. With another deep breath, Bushi closed his phone and reached over to grab his bags. The bitterness had receded to a dull ache, rather than the sharp, heavy weight on his shoulders. He needed one other person to cover the last remaining ache.

  

* * *

 

 

When Bushi gets back to the hotel, he feels a little more centered than he was at the venue. Still bitter, still sad, but just a little more like himself. His footsteps echoed with dull thuds against the carpet of the hotel hallways. When he opened the door, he was greeted with low light of a bedside lamp and Naito sitting against the headboard -- glasses on, hair tousled, and iPad in his lap. "Hi," Naito said with the certain tentativeness that he held when he was worried, but trying to reign back his fretting.

 

"Hi," Bushi replied, toeing off his shoes and started to undress. Naito watched with a careful eye, the same critical gauging to see if Bushi would wince or falter at any movement. Trying to take stock of potential injuries without prying, "What did I miss?"

 

"Nothing much," Naito shrugged, as he set aside his tablet on the nightstand, "Everyone turned on Okada in the main event. I might have to text Yoshi-Hashi, he looked like he got hurt."

 

Bushi made a soft hum of acknowledgement before he was climbing into bed next to Naito, slotting himself against his side and dropping his head to rest on his chest. Naito's hand reached up to gently run through the dyed strands, rubbing his scalp and down the back of his neck. "Hiromu told me you were worried," Bushi said, hiding a grin against Naito's shirt as Naito curses, "You sap."

 

"You were upset," Naito defended himself, lower lip jutting out in a sulk, "And I don't know how to help when you close off."

 

"I know," Bushi sighed, "I just...don't like making you have to worry about me."

 

"You're stupid if you think I won't," Naito told him seriously as he tilted his head down to kiss the crown of Bushi's head, "You can be upset. I just...want you to be upset with us. Let me know. You don't have to pretend you're fine when I can be here to help."

 

Bushi moved up to lift Naito's glasses off with care, setting them aside so he could pull Naito down under the cover with him. Naito's arms were warm and his hand was heavy on his spine, comforting and grounding. "You all have other things to worry about --"

 

"Stop," Naito cut him off, "Just cause you take care of us doesn't mean we all can't do the same for you. That's all we want."

 

With a sigh, Bushi murmured softly in agreement as Naito rubbed small circles on his lower back. "Soon," Naito said, "You'll get your time soon. Until then, well...I guess you'll just have to settle for having just me thinking you're the best in the world."

 

"I don't really mind that."

 

"Really? Good. I don't plan on stopping."

 

"And I don't want you to," Bushi said as Naito reached to turn out the bedside lamp. "I think I can handle just being your best."


End file.
